Always Believed In
by misti4492
Summary: Whether he knew it or not, Jack always had a believer. He had one from the very beginning for how else would the world know the name Jack Frost without a nudge, however small it was.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Rise of the Guardians**

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The thin layer of frost that coated the window was but one of the many signs of winter's claims over the little village. Already Emma could see the children beyond her small view of the world laughing and running amuck around the village, making small snowballs, which they tossed back and forth across the village square. It brought a smile on the young girl's lips for their antics reminded her of all those years ago when she herself participated in winter games, but that was a long time ago. It wasn't that she outgrew the fun but more that it served as painful reminders of the presence missing in her life.

He always liked fun. Everyone knew that and no matter how much people scoffed at his childish pranks, he did not allow it to stop him from having his fun. She remembered how he ran about the village, looking for his next target to trick, always focusing on the children who looked too sad to him. Though people claimed their annoyance over his pranks, they still could not hide the smile that stubbornly crossed their face at the sight of the boy's mischief. Even with the initial ire of suffering one of his pranks, it was but a shallow emotion that tried and failed to mask the laughter that bubbled from their throat.

It all changed of course, but not in the way the villagers expected. They laughed and teased the boy, pointing out that one day the pranks must stop. Even children joined in with their playful remarks; they often told him that he could not have fun forever. While that may be true, no one prepared for the sudden end to those pranks. No one thought, or could even believe, that that bright and cheerful boy with his permanent mischievous grin would end in such a tragedy.

Emma turned from the window and swallowed past the lump in her throat as she allowed her memories to consume her. With a shake of her head, she walked away from the window and removed her nightshirt. She then gathered dress, which she tossed over her head; she straightened it, before adding a shawl to rest across her shoulders. With quick, light steps, she raced to the front door and slipped her feet into the boot that sat there in the corner. The first snowfall of the winter season had arrived, and she wanted to enjoy it the only way she could. She wrenched the door open and felt the cold nip at her nose as behind her a voice called out.

"Emma, dear, where're you going?"

Emma turned and greeted her mother, an aged woman with soft, brown curls and chocolate eyes inlaid in her wrinkled, tired face. While she tried to hide it, Emma knew her mother still struggled with the loss their little family suffered; she could still hear her parents at night as her father consoled the poor woman. They attempted to hide their grief from their youngest, to be the support that the girl needed over the years, but Emma knew that the grief would always remain present.

It was hard not to acknowledge it. There was still the extra bed in her room and the clothing in the wardrobe. Stored in drawers and cabinets, they could still find trinkets and toys of a boy's childhood. In every corner of the house, remainders of his presence were preserved whether it was a small, carved picture in the house's walls or his belongings they had not quite removed; reluctance was the prime action they took when faced with these reminders when removal was debated. No one felt right to do away with the objects from their home, not wanting to toss aside the belongings as if it meant nothing in their lives. Besides, they wanted the reminder that their little family of three was once, however many long years ago, a family of four. They never wanted to forget the oldest son and brother they had lost.

"Going to the pond, Mama. I'll be back before you even have breakfast out."

Her mother's eyes strayed to her booted feet and empty hands before she gave a small nod, "Be careful."

"I will."

"Don't go on the ice!" she shouted before Emma strayed too far from hearing. Panic accompanied her words and while most children would scoff at their parents' overactive imagination, Emma gave her a small smile.

"I won't"

With that, the girl exited the door into the chilly morning. Ever since the accident, her mother had not wanted her to go ice-skating ever again, fearing what would happen to her baby girl. It was a feeling that Emma found to agree, for she never so much as touched another pair of skates since that day. During the days after the accident, Emma spent her time at home, her eyes an endless stream of tears as she chose to sit on her brother's bed and clenched one of his old, tattered shirt tightly to her chest. She culd still smell his scent, as if he was in that very room with her; she lifted the shirt and used it to wipe away the tears.

As the time passed, and moisture soaked into the fabric, her parents finally decided enough was enough. They had their time to mourn and even when they were not ready to move on, they knew it was their responsibility to care for their daughter. It took gentle coaxing for them to draw their youngest from her stupor, and although she was still depressed, Emma, too, noticed the hard times her parents had. Since that day, she strove to take responsibility and be the strong pillar her parents needed. Besides, he wouldn't had wanted them to waste their time weeping over his grave.

She trudged through the snow, exchanging pleasantries with her neighbors and occasionally snatched snow from the ground to toss it at a child's unsuspecting back; their laughs and protests always echoed pleasantly through to her ears. It was a beautiful, bright day for the snow to fall, with small flurries that floated down in the swirls of the wind. Winter may have been marred by that moment at the pond, but Emma could not deny the beauty of the season. She trekked her way to the village edge and into the forest, where pines grew tall and snow covered their green branches in mounds; intermixed stood other trees that shed their leaves in favor for the pristine white. The winter birds twittered and hopped above her and the occasional fox skirted into the bushes. Hidden deep in the forest around her, Emma knew furred creatures burrowed themselves for the season, choosing to hibernate through the cold months with tummies filled to brim with food, enough to last the season.

The warmth of her breath blew into her enclosed palms as Emma tried to warm them up. She should not have forgotten her gloves but since the girl had already walked this far, she would rather not go back. In the distance, she could see the upcoming break in the trees, which urged her to walk faster, almost run. Soon she burst from the tree cover and into an opened area. The circular space held nothing but a pond, thin ice frozen over from the previous night. While the area held no significant landmarks or unique beauty, it was the center of many of her childhood memories.

To the side, she could see e rough dirt path that she used to run down chasing her elder brother, the other children followed with glee for the boy's next games. She remembered how he would climb trees and swung upside down as she and their friends cried for him to get down, to be careful not to fall. Further still, she knew she could find a barren patch by a large boulder, the dry patch of land served them wonderfully as a spot to build campfires at night and exchange stories. To these days, the children of the village still participated in these games but Emma had long ago turned away from them. This pond held many memories; however, it was one such memory that would remain with her forever, one that kept her feet firmly on the ground away from the ice.

She could still hear the lightness in his voice and the teasing way in which he spoke to her. She remembered how her knees shook and her legs wobbled in fear along with the terrifying sounds of ice crackling beneath her feet. She could still hear the nervous laughter that bubbled out her own throat and mingled in the air with her brother's voice as he exaggerated his movements in a dark game of hopscotch. She could still feel the pressed of the wooden crook on the small of her back while it slid neatly around her waist and tugged her to safety. Forever burnt in her mind was the moments after, when the last, relieved smile that stretched over his face. He wore that smile with ease, his relief plain to the world, before he disappeared from her sight, engulfed by the frigid waters as the ice finally collapsed under his weight.

Careful not to slip, Emma made her way to the edge of the water with thoughts of her brother in mind. She bent her knees, plopped down on the ground, and placed her booted feet curled beneath her. Her brother always looked out for her and that day wasn't any different. He was more than the big brother that sang her to bed and coddled her through her young life; he was her savior. If it wasn't for him, it'll had been her that fell into those water, drowned and frozen in its icy grips. That day his dedication to her was apparent from beneath his tricks, for though her brother loved those tricks, Emma knew his promises were always true. If he promised her she would be fine, that she would be safe, she knew it would be so. If only she knew what the cost of that safety was. It was a cost so painful that she wondered if it was worth the pain.

She slid her hand into the small pockets of her dress and withdrawn a small piece of parchment from the depth. The letter was part of a self-enforced ritual she began during the first snowfalls of winter, one that started the year after her brother's death when she felt strong enough to face the pond. That time was the first day of the winter season when she approached the pond, tears in her eyes as she stared at the frosty surface. That day her hands clenched until her nails broke through her skin and her eyes squeezed shut to block the watery flow from escaping. She wanted to be strong for her brother, breaking down in sobs at every turn of her life proved her strengths to no one.

A smile curled on her lips as her memory of that particular day rushed back to her. She was angry and depressed, too blind in her emotions to initially see the miracle before her eyes. When the emotions eventually settled, that was when she caught a glimpse of him; white-haired and pale as he spun and swirled in the air like the snowflakes that trailed in his wake. She reflected on how her eyes widened in surprise at the strange winter sprite that danced in the wind. It was a remarkable sight as the figure twisted in the air. When he landed on the ice, she scurried to hide in the tries, nervous of the stranger who commanded the winter around her. Soon her fear gave way to cheer as she watched with a smile as the boy skated across the surface of the pond, with a shepherd's crook clasped firmly in his hand. He traced frosty designs on the ice as he sped around before he leapt to the ground and observed his work.

The familiarity that followed him and his antics left a pang in her heart. Even from a distance, Emma could see the boy's resemblance to her own brother. He wore a child-like love of fun and during those short minutes, she knew that this free spirit probably had a love for tricks as great as her brother's love. His appearance alone shared similarities with her brother, if it wasn't or the white hair, blues eyes, and too pale skin, Emma would believe it was her departed loved one.

That day, that glimpse of the stranger, was the first day her depression broke and her grief gave way to joy, however small it was. From then on, Emma visited the little pond annually, her attempt on catching a glimpse of the odd spirit. For every visit, she hid herself amongst the trees, scared that his realization of her presence may drive him away from the area. In the back of her mind, however, Emma knew the real reason was that she didn't want to find undeniable proof against another belief she held on the spirit.

Emma unfolded the parchment and admired her handiwork; it was a long-winded letter that spoke of her life throughout the past year. She folded back into a neat square and laid it to rest on the ice. The water had yet to completely freeze over and the thin ice broke easily to the pressure of her hand as she pushed the parchment down. She watched the paper as water dragged it beneath, the water invaded th dry folds. Then she rose from her seat and left the small, peaceful pond.

At the forest's edge, she turned and waited just long enough for him to appear. When snow first falls, she knew he would appear, and this year was no different. She watched with a smile as the pale boy danced into view with a shout of joy and skidded across the water's surface, successfully freezing it over. The ice spread from the point of contact and soon encased the entire pond, trapping her piece of parchment underwater. She turned away and hurried back home; back to breakfast left on the table, the chores left waiting, and the mother she needed to comfort with the sight of her own safety.

The passing years had left her free from her sorrows, and while she would always miss her brother, Emma knew that the free-spirited boy would not want her to waste her life over his memory. Besides, what was the point in mourning when he was still up to his tricks after all these years, or at least that was what Emma always believed. That shepherd's crook in the winter sprite's hands had held more than a familiarity that his features brought.

While she feared to speak of her thoughts to her parents and the other villagers who seemed not to notice the strange boy flying about, she still believed of the carefree spirit that came every winter. Emma knew she could go and attempt to talk to the boy, ask him if he truly was whom she thought he was, but her fears stilled her tongue. She didn't want her fantasies to be wrong and thus chose not to chance it. Besides reality had a nasty way of grounding a child into a supposed reality as the aged and matured. Adults often laughed at a child's belief, brushing them aside as the ramblings of childhood. To them the fantasies were nothing but the imagination that blossomed from a child's attempt at understanding the world. Whether or not her own belief stemmed from the combine force of her grief and imagination, Emma refused to prove the fallacies of her faith.

Emma returned home, shrugged off her shawl and tugged her boots off her toes to line them neatly with that other footwear by the entrance of her small home. Upon entering the house, a small sneeze escaped her nose and caused a shiver down her spine. The sound of the sneeze caught her mother attention and announced her return. She appeared from around the iron stove, her hand held a bowl of porridge to be placed on the small table in their home.

"Emma, where are your gloves? You need to bundle up properly else you're going to get sick," her mother admonished. She put down the bowl and turned to fully face her daughter, a scowl set in her face.

Emma laughed and shot a grin to her mother, "It's not the gloves getting me sick, Mama."

"What else could explain it when you choose to skip around outside without the proper clothing?" her mother rolled her eyes as she approached her daughter and settled a warm hand over her forehead. "I hope you don't catch a fever." With another shake of her head, her mother returned to the little kitchen and retrieved a small mug for tea to warm up her daughter.

Emma looked down; her cold hands touched lightly on the tip of her nose. She whispered, her voice too small for her mother to hear, "It was Jack Frost nipping on my nose again with his silly tricks."

_You have to believe in me._

Her brother asked her to believe in him and it was a belief she would never let go, even as her body matured into the young woman she was now. Whether or not people looked at her in pity or laughed in ignorance at her silly ideas, she would always believe in the winter sprite that seemingly brought winter to the village. Even now, at the corner of her eyes, she could almost see him flitting between the other children in a full-scaled snowball fight. He was at his tricks again, as always.

It looked like Jack found a way to have fun forever. Whether it was a silly childhood belief born by her silly, hopeful imagination, Emma would always believe in the winter sprite she playfully nicknamed Jack Frost. In the years to come, she would tell her own children and her children's children of how they needed to bundle up properly; else, Jack Frost would go nipping at their nose. While people loved her clever expression, no one would realize that it stemmed from her irreplaceable belief that her brother was out there bringing cheer and fun to the little children around the world, ensuring that everyone had experienced at least one good snowball fight.

That was all Jack really wanted after all, for everyone to have fun.

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Jack held the golden, bejeweled box tightly in his hand, as if scared he would lose track of it as a small tear glistened against his pale cheeks. He saw the small watery smile that extended across his face reflected back to him as Tooth watched him carefully; ready to extend her arms in comfort to her fellow Guardian. They were at the Tooth Palace, sitting next to the small grotto that held the Tooth Fairy's mural. She had called to him and managed to get Baby Tooth to take care of her operations so she may have time alone with the winter spirit and share her discovery. When she found the box, she hesitated before bringing it to Jack, but she knew that it was something he needed to see. Now they sat together in silence, unable to speak after viewing the memory of his long dead sister.

"She believed in me," Jack whispered, breaking the silence.

"She always did," agreed Tooth.

Every spirit had a beginning. While Emma had not realized at the time, her little phrase, her little playful remarks of the winter spirit, had ultimately saved them all. Every spirit had their first believer no matter what, the first person to give them name. The first believer was the person to bring the world's attention to the newborn legend, even if they were no quite ready to believe in them. There was always one person in the beginning and though Tooth knew the pain Jack would feel over never seeing his sister, she knew that he needed to know how his little sister had never stopped believing.

She enveloped him in a hug and comforted him as the silent tears leaked from the corner of his eyes and splashed onto her back. Her tears accompanied his and together the two sat in the serenity the grotto brought, the quiet calm was like a bubble that surrounded and isolated them from the hectic life the fairy led. The area was the perfect place for Tooth to bring Jack and show him the memories. She was glad she chose this spot, for it allowed the spirit to release his emotions without care.

Slowly the tears ebbed and the shuddering of his body slowed. When the shuddering stopped and his eyes dried, he pulled back from Tooth with a small, embarrassed smile. He picked up his staff that lay on the ground next to him and stood up. Leaning down, hand clasped tightly to the crook, he offered his other hand to Tooth who accepted it with a smile. Together they turned to the mural, each with their own watery smile, as they thought of the little girl whose teeth were contained in the box held in Jack's hand.

With a sigh, Jack extended the box to Tooth, which she accepted with a smile and a question in her eyes. Silently, she asked him if he was ready to let it go. The winter spirit's smile widened, that was all she needed for confirmation as she gently lifted the precious teeth from his chilly hand.

"Tooth?"

She cocked her head, and stared at Jack as she wondered what he wanted to say.

"Thank you," Jack murmured with eyes sincere before he leapt to the air in a blast of wind and flew away from the grotto.

Tooth smiled up at the boy above her, "You are very welcome, Jack."

The laugh that echoed back to Tooth was all she needed to know that he heard. She watched as the boy flew away and knew that wherever he was going, wherever he thought needed a good covering of snow, she knew he was also bringing more than just winter. He was the Guardian of Fun and thus it fell upon him to bring that fun to the children of the world, only this time he did so with the knowledge that the most important person in his life never forgot and never stopped believing. For that was what she wanted her brother to know. She wanted him to know that she was always there for him whether to watch from afar or remind the people that Jack Frost was there to have fun.

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**AN: Well here is my first attempt on RoTG a few days after watching the movie. This was a thought I had during the movie so I decided to give it a go. While I don't usually write outside Merlin and will still mostly stick to that, this was a nice change, so I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did writing it! I may do a few one-shots in the future for RoTG, but that all depends on time, ideas, and if I have a WIP.**

**Thank you for reading! Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcomed ^^**


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